Endomorphic

Nicky was in town, and we decided to go to Filene's Basement. Humph! Nicky spotted this mannequin and pronounced it "endomorphic." That's a new word I've learned today. I like this mannequin's t-shirt, and I don't think the mannequin is endomorphic at all. Poor li'l mannequin! You're really quite a catch, when I think about it. A nice body and a missing head - definitely a cheap date, if nothing else!

Throughout the evening, I was giving Nicky a crash course in using Grindr, the iPhone's G.P.S. app for loose gays. Nicky isn't gay, but he wishes he was, so that sex would be ubiquitous for him, as it seems to be for the gays. Oh, Nicky. Sex may be ubiquitous, but people become less fun when they've had too much fun, as it were. These days, I mainly use Grindr to send messages to my friend Daniel, who has complained to me before about friends of his becoming "endomorphic" and him losing interest in them. This was not a good time to quit smoking, I'm sure, as I've been eating like an endomorph for over a week now. Oh, well. If I hadn't quit smoking now, I might have burned down my apartment while Daniel was asleep inside, which I'm sure would also have irritated him.

Really, there is much to discover about oneself during a visit from a friend, in the early days of summer.

The pilgarlic

In 1998, I had a word-a-day calendar in my cubicle at Lehman Brothers in San Francisco. I don't remember a single word from that calendar except for the word "pilgarlic." Pilgarlic! Who has ever used that word in conversation? Apparently, it means a "bald man," and also a "sneaking fellow." How my friend Hilary, who worked at the next cubicle over, and I would laugh about that word!

I certainly wasn't laughing three years later, when I met a real-life pilgarlic. I met him somewhere on the LES - I forget where. He mentioned that he couldn't get home that night, and, because he seemed like a really nice person, I offered to let him crash at my place. How crazy of me! We spent the night talking, lying in my bed, and he told me several times how he "got" me. He suggested that the world was insane, not me. (I already knew that). By the morning we were making plans with each other in them. He went to buy some pot, or somesuch. Then, I got a call from my bank. He was attempting to make a cash withdrawal across the street! Of course, this can't happen - he didn't know my PIN, although he apparently had made several inaccurate guesses. What were his guesses? "Guitar?" "Vodka?"

Over the course of the day, my pilgarlic made a few purchases with a couple of credit cards he had also taken. A coat at the Burlington Coat Factory. A Metrocard. I canceled the cards, and the charges were reversed, but he did get to keep the merchandise. I got to keep this pair of his socks, which he carelessly left behind and which I've clung to all these years, wanting to at least get something out of that night. He got so much - I got his socks. I went to the local police precinct and filled out a police report, thinking that that was the end of the story.

A few months later, I was boozing it up at the Boiler Room when I saw him again. I ran into the street to call the police. He ran after me, followed by Xavier, my favorite bartender. The pilgarlic shouted at Xavier: "This man (me) is an alchoholic!" Xavier and I both burst into laughter, and I said, "Oh, we all are!" How silly of him - he was at the Boiler Room, after all, not Le Cirque.

Anyway, he jumped into a cab and sped off. I grabbed the door handle of the cab, but it kept driving, dragging me down the street. I let go and tumbled, it seemed, back into the Boiler Room. Xavier wanted to buy me a drink. I wasn't so sure that was the right idea, but it was nice to be led somewhere, so I let myself be led. The manager of the Boiler Room, whom I hated, approached me and demanded to know what had happened. I declined to tell him. He insisted, saying that he could "86" me. I told him to go ahead, and flicked my lit cigarette at him, catching his shirt on fire for just a second. It suddenly got very serious in the Boiler Room, of course, and EVERY bartender in the joint told me to get out. I was, apparently, banned for life. I calmly told the manager I would gladly get out, but that first I was finishing my drink, which I did. Then I walked out, highly amused and ashamed, both - a simultaneous duo of emotions that even today I seek out. I STILL don't go back to the Boiler Room, which speaks both to the power of the "86" and the sneaking power of the pilgarlic.

I have clung to the pilgarlic's socks for years now, but by now, in the year 2010, they are full of holes. I threw them away this morning. Come, quietly, to your own conclusions.

SOMETHING RED / Babatunde's shirt

I went last night to the launch party for Jennifer Gilmore's new novel SOMETHING RED. Isn't that the best title ever?! I had some dumb thought that I would wear the shirt that Babatunde custom-made for me and outshine Jennifer at her own party! But, as you can see, she easily defeats me in that fashion battle. (But Babatunde, all day long, I was getting compliments at HarperCollins on the shirt. It was a hit! I had a bit of a date later in the evening, so I brought a change of shirts in case the shirt was too "gay" for a first date. I needn't have worried! When I arrived on the date, he was wearing denim jeans and a denim jacket - a fashion faux pas that secretly thrilled me). Also of note about the party: Albert Mobilio from Bookforum called me a slut!

I used to be Jennifer's assistant at Harcourt, and now we go to each other's events all the time. At my last gig, at the Living Room, she called out "sing an Indigo Girls song!" and I responded by playing the first verse of "Freebird." I don't know from the Indigo Girls!

I'm reading SOMETHING RED right now, and will be writing a review of it, too. It's buzzing with paranoia and resentment, and, though set mostly in the 80s, seems to have lessons within it that are right up-to-the-minute. And, lurking within, there's something else, too. A call to arms? A jeremiad? I'm halfway through, so I won't say too much else about the book, except that I am looooving it. I love Jennifer, too. Buy her book! :)

Alia's missed connections

Alia H. was in the building for a meeting, so I met up with her for a drink afterwards. We went to the French restaurant where yet another of my emotionally unavailable boytoys works. (But we didn't go to his section, we stayed downstairs. I'm too old to stalk anymore, and plus, I've already enjoyed his company many times. And I am always afraid that he will accost me in the restroom of the restaurant, as he's warned me he will! Restrooms are for peeing!)

Alia is famous for having had five "missed connections" entries written for her, which is crazy to think about! But today, Alia was mourning a real missed connection - she just broke up with her boyfriend! Arg, I liked him for her. Such a sad situation. We commiserated about that sort of stuff, then, as a joke, I showed her the "GrindR" app that's all the rage with the kids. Right away, she coerced me into emailing some nearby guy, and now me and the guy are just as chatty as teenagers. She's such a good cyber-wing-woman! I forced her to accept a couple of hugs from me as partial payment.

I loved her outfit, but then when she took off her scarf and coat, she was wearing the same thing she always does! I love her consistency, and her ways in general. We will movie it up soon, Alia H. Stay strong. Doomed relationships lead to better ones. Things happen for a reason. Hugs are therapeutic.

Another sneaker shot

I went to meet up with Robert at my new favorite bar, XES. As I walked, I noticed that the hem of my pants was badly stained yellow-ish brown, and I practically fainted with embarrassment. What happened there? I haven't worn these pants in so long (they are among my "punishment pants" that I've kept to remind myself how fat I got a year ago). I kid you not, it looked like I had stepped in poop. But I reasoned that this gave me much-needed "street cred," and I kept walking, head held high.

I wanted to blog about walking around in poopy pants, but then Robert put his feet into the pic, too - so it turned into a different pic, and a different post.

The last guy I photographed with our feet together for my outfit blog - I'll call him "N" - performed a wonderful dance last week at Dixon Place. I texted him with gushing praise afterwards, but, as usual, he kept his own counsel. Whenever I contact someone that I know with gushing praise and don't get much in the way of response, it feels like I am teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to topple over! I will keep my praise to myself in the future - I'm learning that it doesn't pay to be as friendly as I've become. Must ... grow ... colder ... to keep up with the gays. I am grateful that I went to that performance, though - I stopped off afterwards at a nearby, nearly empty gay establishment, and made a weird new friend. Perhaps there will be a picture of his shoes and mine in a future post, but perhaps not. Either way, I didn't use exclamation points in my texts with him. See? Growing colder already! :)

Ada's party

I went to a party for Ada Calhoun's new book, Instinctive Parenting. I was worried that there would be a lot of mommies at the party, but I worried for naught. Instead, the party was filled with East Village arts-types, Ada's famous (and very cute) parents, and Tim Gunn from "Project Runway." Since I didn't know anyone there, I ended up talking to Tim briefly - I wanted to find out if he was as nice as people say. We talked about our mutual friend Emmett, and Tim suggested that we hang out together with Emmett soon. What a nice thing to say! I will suggest that to Emmett soon, once my downward spiral is less downward.

Also there was Kenny Mellman, who sometimes performs as "Herb" in Kiki & Herb. I vaguely know him, so we chatted for a second about JD from Le Tigre's new band, MEN. I miss Kiki & Herb! And I miss Le Tigre! When will they play again?

I also chatted, most awkwardly, with the manager of The Phoenix who banned me for life from that bar for making fun of his band. Have you ever chatted lightly with someone with active hatred in their eyes for you, for a minor incident that occurred ten years ago? It's both disturbing and refreshing to see people hold on to their emotions for so long.

Ada wore a beautiful black gown, with a bunch at the waist - I couldn't tell what it was - maybe a sash, or a hidden brooch? She's in the center of this pic, partially obscured by a redhead. I loved her outfit, and I truly respect Ada - anyone who could draw such a kooky, jazzed crowd at her party is probably someone I would get along with famously.

My friend Matthew

I have a friend Matthew who decries all things "gay," but who works designing accessories for ladies. This must present such an internal struggle within himself! Every time I say something with a twang, he mocks me and calls me gay. "So saith the fashionista," I said drily last time he said that. The ironic thing is, the gays have never really liked me, so I am as non-gay as a gay can be.

I really loved a bag Matthew made, with ostrich feathers, and I am going to commission one from him for my friend Alia's graduation this May. She likes ostrich feathers, and now that she is going to be a lawyer-on-the-go! she will need a bag.

This is a picture of him in my apartment, holding a copy of Justin Taylor's Everything Here is the Best Thing Ever. I love that book! Matthew told me not to blog about him, because he knows lots of lawyers, but I am blogging about him anyway. You can't really tell who he is from this picture anyway. Bring it on, lawyers! :)

Matthew is so mean to me! He calls me names, but then he sends me sweet, assuaging texts calling me "babe." *sigh* It probably isn't going to work out with him. He is 20 years old ... urk. I know, I know. I am always lobbing arrows of desire out towards the gays of the world, but somehow they fall outside of my age range. Why is that? Is that because my personality is so ... off somehow ... that only the insane and the young can relate to it? OMG, Matthew had a mid-term yesterday. I sent him a text telling him we should celebrate when he could, and he replied, "Ha ha dork." Pretty soon, he will probably send me another one calling me babe, which will assuage me yet again. I'm pretty easy to assuage. :)